Syrenrei

The Betrothed

"The successful farmers have to be, especially the women," she shrugged casually. It was because of this aptitude that Rhiane had taken over the Black Farm in the first place; her father and brother did not have the disposition or talent for either persuasion nor deceit. In the rural areas of the country misogyny was more pronounced than she expected it was in the capitol. Here the queen would not tolerate men looking down upon her because of her sex. In Rhiane's town no one was able to employ a wet nurse or nanny, nor were they able to convince their husbands that they had their same raw strength for working jobs of manual labor, so after childbirth the matriarch of a household was often relegated to a more submissive role. A few of her peers were able to recover more quickly and take their infants onto the lands they toiled at a few months old, but this was the exception and not the rule. To say that she was underestimated on account of her gender, and sometimes dismissed by an elder businessman who was accustomed to country life, was to put the situation mildly. Rhiane had to be cunning by necessity. Being a princess elect simply put her shrewd approach to a different use than before.

"I apologize. I did not mean to upset you," she said sincerely though Luke did not appear particularly angry. His eyes had narrowed and his quiet tone was firm but it was not boiling with rage so much as incredulity. It was genuinely difficult to anticipate how her fiance might react to what she said and did. They did not have a familiarity with one another that made navigating their political relationship easy or intuitive. Brushing some of her damaged hair over her shoulder she leaned forward so as to speak as discreetly as possible.

"My maids have loose lips- which I think we can both appreciate is probably intentional. Their loyalty is to your mother, not to me, and they will gossip at the drop of a hat about what I am and am not doing. If I had the latitude to select them myself from a wider pool that might not have been the case, but it's the situation I'm in right now. I thought it better to get ahead of their blabbing so we could try to control the narrative. This way we don't look like naughty teenagers trying to keep a dirty secret and instead look like two people earnestly and unabashedly making it work. That was the thought anyway," she finished as she sat back in her seat. Under the lighting she knew she looked haggard for a moment as she sagged in her seat. Manipulating the charade was her pride but she was having doubts about the ebb and flow of both the courts and the media. It might be impossible to keep Luke, Queen Camilla, Luce Viscomi, the nobility, the masses, and news agencies all pleased. At least a few candidates in the contest had called such a task impossible.

"If you want to finish your dinner I'm sure we can have things moved so while I'm taking my shower..." she drifted off as she tried to imagine a way they could arrange a table and chair near the bathroom without making it obvious they were limited to a certain distance. The implant's biggest inconvenience was that they could not let any of the servants know of its existence.

"Are you ready?" Ms. Viscomi chirped with an eager smile plastered on her features. The sooner they could bathe the princess elect, the sooner she could be changed and primped to the royal standards, and the more quickly she could appease both the monarch and annoyed interviewer. The evident blossoming romance also buoyed her mood as it suggested her job would quickly become easier rather than more challenging.

"Yes, I believe I am. Could you have the dessert moved to where the beauticians will be working? I don't want to delay the process but I'd be remiss not partake this lovely treat provided for me," Rhiane replied with a glossy painted smiled of her own.

"Excellent! The medical staff has been notified of your return and I have been instructed to..." she began as Rhiane rose from her seat and moved to start towards the aforementioned bathroom.

"No, I'm fine Ms. Viscomi, thank you," was the quick reply from the tall, sultry woman making her way towards her waiting shower and attendants (all of whom would be dismissed rather than be allowed to assist in something as mundane as washing her hair). This curt, yet polite, refusal obviously perplexed the image manager who stopped where she was, hand hovering over her tablet, and looked back towards the crown prince to seek either his approval or intervention in the matter.

The Betrothed

"I'd rather you not say you're sorry for my family's loss," she said quietly, pausing briefly in the wanton destruction of her plate. Thin strips of pasta were half-wound around her fork as she let it waffle back and forth between her fingers. The sandwich had already been consumed and what was left linguini she had was dwindling. Despite their conversation Ms. Viscomi could find not criticism for the pace at which the princess elect was eating. They may be losing time on a whole but the former was diligent, if not lacking in table manners, in making certain that she inhaled her dinner as quickly as possible. No one had any illusions this was for the interview's benefit. Rhiane was too tired, too famished, and too anxious about her performance to be bothered with etiquette at this exact moment. "I want to be honest with one another. I know no one at the castle truly cares and the less people that pretend that they do the better. Had they ever been sorry..." she shook her head. This was not Luke's fault. Though he may have had modicum of power at the time of their deaths she doubted that any decision was made without the queen's stamp of approval- literally. No matter how she reassured herself internally it stung to be surrounded by people who were indifferent to the suffering and demise of two people whom she loved dearly simply because they lived in poverty. Sooner or later her future fiance would learn the truth of her personal tragedy but she doubted it would change anything.

"I don't need a trip to the infirmary," she objected. "Let's at least wait until tomorrow morning until we decide if it's absolutely necessary. A hot shower and a night's rest will do wonders. Even the best doctor will have difficulty with a diagnosis if I am exhausted," she pointed out with mild hope that logic would appeal to him. Rhiane was feeling better. It was because she wasn't quite fully recovered that she hedged around reassuring him there was no lingering effects; she couldn't tell where hypothermia ended and fatigue began. Being so wretchedly cold had made her twice as tired physically. "And just because you've been through worse doesn't mean we should prolong getting you some sleep either."

She shrugged off the concept of being flattered. Once it happened she found it likely that she would find it more enchanting that talking about it beforehand academically. Hardly anyone bothered to compliment Rhiane, much less to excess. In her business transactions for the farm she was the one trying to get into the good graces of suppliers, vendors, freight shippers, and purchasers. Had she inherited a particular successful farm she might have had them courting her, hoping to share in the profits, but it was not until the last couple years they had seen reward for their efforts. Since coming to the castle not even the staff had bothered to praise her for beauty, her wit, or her congeniality. The public at the restaurant were sincere in their appreciation and encouragement. If she sensed the interviewer was actually sincere, and was charmed beyond his script, there was a chance she might overly indulge him just as she had the commoners crowding her for a picture. If she sensed he was charismatic, fake, and reciting lines unenthusiastically she would play her part, just as she had at the engagement ball, but be emotionally indifferent.

"Ah, you used my name this time," she said, perking up slightly as she started to attack her pasta with renewed fervor. "I'm sure she has passed that along to the interviewer." There was a pause as she chewed and swallowed. "You were quite clear before we left that it was a secret place and I intend to keep it that way. The more vague I am, and the more I insinuate it's somewhere of great value, the more that is left to the imagination. Sometimes it is best to let your audience fill in the gaps themselves. They'll come up with wildly romantic fantasies that will perpetuate the charade better than direct details ever would... and I'm sure that will please your mother." After she finished her explanation she shoveled the rest of the pasta into her mouth. Calm as Luke was she was increasingly anxious about the timetable. Making the masses wait too long would erode some of her positive reception.

"Ms. Viscomi," she called out, motioning for the image manager to come back towards the table. The older noble had drifted away out of respect and propriety.

"Yes, Ms. Black? Are you finished eating?" Luce Viscomi eagerly inquired as she eyed the princess elect's untouched dessert. The 'cannoli incident' had made it apparent that the princess elect had a sweet tooth. The presence of the sweet on the table indicated that perhaps dinner had not yet concluded.

"Could you please coordinate my things being sent to the crown prince's quarters while I take my shower?" Rhiane asked innocently with the knowledge that the two sharing a bed would spread like wildfire. If the maids didn't immediately spread rumors she was certain that Luce Viscomi would herself.

The Betrothed

Rhiane was suspiciously quiet as Luce Viscome and Prince Lucius discussed the teleprompters and her pre-planned canned responses. She was certain that Queen Camilla was an exceedingly intelligent monarch who knew how best to control and manipulate her courts. The princess elect believed it was impossible for someone of low birth, such as herself, to navigate better socially or politically than anyone that had the experiences that came with being born into nobility such as the queen. The reverse was also true. The royalty and aristocracy relied on theories, polls, and prestigious instructors to tell them how to appeal to the masses to whom they were so distant. No matter how many speeches they gave, however, they could not intrinsically understand the public as well as someone who actually lived a mundane life. With the lords and ladies of the kingdom she would defer to the expertise of the crown. She could not and would not have faith in their assessment of her image to the general populace, not when she had her pride as a former farmer who had been able to negotiate her business from the edge of bankruptcy with a silver tongue alone, and not when she could empathize with the struggles of the poor so acutely.

There were stories about how when the first farmers plowed the lands they tried to grow the same crops year after year on the same fields. At the time they were ignorant of soil testing so they did not know that each crop would, as the seasons turned, deplete certain nutrients from the ground. This meant the fifth year, sixth year, seventh year of the same crop would have a diminishing yield as the nutrients of their chosen product was more scarce. Crop rotation was the result of the discovery that they could achieve greater success if they changed what they grew, and on what fields, to make the most out of the earth's resources. In some ways Queen Camilla and her predecessors reminded Rhiane of the first farmers. Year after year they tried to use the same tactics, the same strategies, in controlling the commoners that made up the majority of their nation. The princess elect could not help but think that it was madness to expect that they would succeed without significant adaptation to the changing world. That was not to say that she thought that New Rome needed to be dissolved into a democracy as the rebellion clamored for. Rhiane simply believed that someone within the castle needed to acknowledge that they needed another voice, another approach, another type of diplomat too keep the situation from devolving further.

It was up to Queen Camilla and Prince Luke to determine when, if ever, they would take advantage of Rhiane and let her full potential be realized. To do would require an admission that they needed help, however, and it was hard to imagine that either of them would let their masks of perfection fall long enough to concede an ounce of power to a mere plebeian.

"I accept, though I assure you that I am not often at a loss of words," she remarked breezily to the image manager as she finished the remnants of her sandwich and turned her attentions to the linguini that had been traded to her plate. She tried to push out of mind what pre-approved statements might have been conjured up for her review and 'personal comments.' The notion of being their puppet with every utterance, and the ill reception she was almost certain would be guaranteed if they followed such a plan, had made her stomach churn slightly. Hopefully they would see the merits in her deviations before they saw fit to remove her tongue. If the revolution was gaining support in the outlying communities now she could only imagine their reaction if she were permanently disfigured, disabled, removed from the public eye, or killed. Anything short of verifiable truth that the monarchy could not be blamed for her immediate future ailments would satisfy the anxious and troubled hearts of New Rome. For better or worse Rhiane was their representative.

When Luke leaned across the table and expressed his concern she fell quiet once more. Thinking over her reply carefully she twirled pasta onto her fork before stabbing a succulent piece of lobster in thought. Foolish as it might be, she had promised Luke shortly after they met that she would not lie to him. The princess elect meant to keep that promise to her fiance until her life came to its premature conclusion. The interview could not be cancelled so long as Queen Camilla decreed it would take place. Rhiane had some sympathy for the crown prince and, while she could not deceive him and feign being the pinnacle of health, she wanted to reassure him best she was able so that only one of them was anxious about her performance.

"I will be fine," she said with a smile. It was an obvious sidestep of the query as to whether she was still feeling ill. "I don't think you read my file, but both my mother and brother fell prey to a contagion that my body was resilient towards. I'm sure that was part of why I was chosen. I might not have your fortitude but I have enough that you should be thinking of what reward you will prepare for me when I finish," she asserted cheekily. "Are you sure you won't collapse or fall asleep while I'm on live broadcast?"

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Yes, truly our success at grand larceny is to be celebrated," Solae remarked wryly with a laugh. Even in the most stern courts of the Stellar Empire it would be a challenge to find any member of the judicial branch willing to chastise the couple. Stealing was criminal, no matter the planet in question, but the smugglers and slavers had been operating an illegal enterprise that did considerably more damage to the imperial citizens and reputation. Not only would anyone with a pulse be sympathetic to the morally righteous duo over the scoundrels they had slain, they would have to concede that the property was taken only after the original owner was killed in self-defense, and in flight of a coup that threatened interstellar security. The marquise had no desire to break more laws than absolutely necessary for survival, but it was undeniable that they would be officially pardoned and forgiven so long as they did not commit treason, genocide, or other heinous acts the Empress could not explain. Nobility had a greater latitude in general with what they could 'get away with' on account of status, wealth, and connections with powerful attorneys, but it paled in comparison to the implied liberty with which the two aristocrats in the Bonaventure could operate until such time they were referred to safe space.

Solae let out a sigh of contentment. Technically the pillow was more comfortable than Rene's shoulder but it lacked the reassurance touch granted. The sigh was chased shortly by a yawn that announced how drowsy being in his embrace, in a slightly lumpy bed dressed in fine silks, after several full days of activity had made her. She only wished that the captain's quarters had more expansive windows so that she could watch the stars drift by as they sailed through the universe. Even in a freight ship that was hobbled together from scrap of other vessels there was no denying the cosmic beauty outside. Her parents would have argued that space was only properly viewed from a prestigious spacecraft. Fortunately the celestial heavens did not pay heed to elitist opinions and were just as stunning no matter whom looked upon them or what vehicle they traversed in.

"I personally think it's a win there's no past lovers I have to compete with," she teased as she curled up on the soldier and closed her eyes completely. Long golden hair splayed across him as her body grew heavy and she started to allow herself to succumb to the allure of slumber. While she was not asleep she would undoubtedly be shortly. Even an hour's rest would go a long way into repairing the damage of been driven to the brink of death as had occurred not so long ago. Their new home was not ideal but the thought it was theirs and they might be able to keep it for more than two consecutive nights was wondrous. Solae had never known how much she took for granted until it was ripped away.

"If we make it to a communications array we will need to decide who we want to reach out to. My... my parents are already dead and I am not close to my cousins. Perhaps we should send a message to your father? The rebellion will suppress news of all the deaths on New Concordia, so he won't realize the danger we're in immediately. He might try to ignore the missive, but perhaps if he hears where it's from, or if you can send him a coded clue we can get his attention. I know that it's a risk but he has more investment than most in us. Your family's honor could be restored when news of your heroism and triumphs spread; we'll be the talk of the sector, if not more, by the time the Empress is done with us. I'd rather reach out to someone that you trust to help than someone whose name I have only read on a piece of paper," she confessed.

It was too early to tell if they'd be able to find any operational equipment on Panopontus. With significantly less land mass for settlements there was less need for the expensive pieces of technology that were keyed to accept only specially screened diplomats' directives. There was also a very real chance even if they managed to send out a signal that it would be traced, interrupted, and/or intercepted, creating a high risk for the couple to be located by their enemies. Solae and Rene couldn't dictate the future but it was in their best interests to find an array, send a singular message, then evacuate, and try to locate one or more additional arrays for additional messages if necessary. Much as she believed in the Stellar Empire, they would not sweep in to save the marquise and her beau immediately, and she'd not forfeit her life in the last hour because she stopped thinking strategically.

"You should think of a coded message for your father, something that would let him know it's really you, so that he'll believe us both when we ask him to go to the military or the Empress as our advocate, just in case," she restated just as her consciousness bled away into the land of dreams. Already she was wistfully yearning for a day where she could repair the severed bonds of Du Quentain men. It was too late for her and her parents, but it wasn't too late for Rene, and she would become his knight in shining armor just as he had become hers so many times over in the last week.

The Betrothed

Rhiane listened with rapt attention as he relayed the story from his adolescence. She was not listening out of polite courtesy but rather because she was genuinely curious about the person he was beyond heir to the throne. Thus far he had proven himself to be as self-absorbed, arrogant, and stubborn as people generally believed him out to be, but she had hoped he was not the summation of his flaws any more than she was. The princess elect certainly knew she had a disturbing morbid sense of humor, was entirely too proud, was too quick to fall on the proverbial sword for her family, hard a sharp tongue, kept an emotional distance from most, was terrified of the notion of actual romantic love, and her knack for deceit made those closest to her have difficulty trusting her completely, no matter how good her intentions might be. Everyone had bad qualities; that was a fact of life. Her fiance's profession he was not a good man had made her fear his hubris might eclipse his virtue.

Hearing him speak about his father brought a warmth to her smile. The fondness with which he spoke of his deceased parent made her want to hear even more about him- and how about little Luke hadn't been the perfect person he feigned being today with so much responsibility heaped onto his shoulders. Rhiane wanted to hear how sometimes the royal family wasn't wrapped up in trying to be glamorous and was almost normal. These glimpses of humorous mishaps and conventional displays of affection made him relatable. For a singular moment of time he wasn't just putting on a show of being Prince Charming. The irony of Luke confessing he poured salt into cake batter when making a cake for his mother making him glow with enchantment was not lost on the princess elect. Had she been one of those silly contest candidates she might have even swooned as he chased his tale with a proposal of sharing their entrees evenly split in half.

"I like hearing you talk about yourself like this," she said without pretense, ignoring for a moment both the interruption and interloper. Rhiane locked her gaze with Luke, hoping to convey her sincerity and interest, even if he scoffed and closed himself off in response. There was no ulterior motive. She was not a woman who was digging for dirt; if anything, her position ensured that she'd never be able to safely expose any skeletons in their closet without throwing herself to the wolves first. In this absurd game of courtly backstabbing she wanted him to hear that, despite herself and his warnings, she cared. She cared about what sort of person the late king had been, about what he had taught his children, about what beautiful memories he left behind, what impact he had on their upbringing, about Luke's feelings regarding his passing, about all the silly, stupid, irrelevant mistakes he had made that had no blackmail value.

"Ms. Viscomi, I appreciate you printing this questions for me, even if it's protocol," she said. Her tone was honeyed but it wasn't mockingly sweet, nor was she lying. The former farmer had a way of flattering someone that, even if they knew she was angling for a particular agenda, was disarming in its delivery. Long ago Rhiane had learned that giving a compliment or expressing gratitude when you didn't mean to do either was fruitless. In her business dealings she had become inventive in finding something to honestly praise at times- the shipper's hair, the merchant's new shirt, the bright smile of her seed supplier, the darling sprite baby of the delivery man's wife.

"Of course, Ms. Black," she intoned nervously. "Have you had a chance to review them in their entirety?"

"I've had a change of heart, Ms. Viscomi, but would you do me the honor of hearing me explain why?" She picked up her knife and began to carefully slice her sandwich in half. The side that had not been bitten into was purposefully slightly larger. Famished as she might be she knew Luke was bigger than she was, was also starved, and needed the calories even if he was being uncharacteristically generous. Without waiting for his approval she carefully lifted the disproportionately larger 'half' and slid it onto the edge of his plate. If he didn't reciprocate her gesture (which had been silent acceptance of his earlier offer) she could find a way to make half a sandwich, soup, and dessert be enough to power her through the interview. "The public likes me because I'm not rehearsed. I know that probably makes the palace nervous, but the queen and crown prince are polished speaking figures, so I need to offer something different to the citizens watching from their small homes. I promise you if I do not meet your expectations during the interview I will let you prep me on every question as much as you want from now until the end of time. If I meet yours, the queen's, and his highness's approval, however, I'd like it if you could create room in our tour for a chance to do something alone with Prince Luke."

Luce Viscomi looked equally fearful of Rhiane's failure and excited about her prospect for success. If the princess elect could stand apart as someone who felt as approachable as she was pitching, and as candid, it would do wonders for elevating the royal family by association.

"What do you think, Luke? Will you take me on some roller coasters or skydiving if I do well? After I cook you breakfast of course, just don't expect it to be quite like this," she said with a gesture towards their small feast.

The Betrothed

Rhiane had been nodding along as Luke ate his soup and consented to her belongings being sent to his room. Logistically it was necessary, and she knew they were both too exhausted to do anything but sleep, but she would be lying if she claimed she had anything but mixed feelings. The former farmer had never shared a bed with someone overnight. Because these were uncharted waters for her she was slightly apprehensive about any habits she might have and be ignorant of- snoring, grinding teeth, tossing and turning, hogging the covers, muttering in her dreams. That Luke hadn't criticized her when she fell asleep in his hovercraft or when she napped in his quarters earlier suggested that there was no abhorrent behavior. While he might not have the luxury of ridding himself of her, she had a hard time believing he'd be able to stop himself from mocking anything she did besides quietly laying still.

Presumably the queen would remove the implant before the wedding. This binding of the couple together physically by nanotechnology would not last; however, they would be expected to share a bed in the future. Rhiane had not forgotten that their relationship would need to be consummated no matter what objections the heir to the throne might have. Tonight she doubted he'd muster the fortitude to even touch her more than was necessary, much less stay awake after his head hit a pillow, but it was the beginning of a journey that neither of them could deviate from. The princess elect could not deny that the man sitting opposite her was handsome. Though she had kept her specific preferences hidden from both him and the contest staff, she was attracted to someone of his stature, and even of his gruff assertiveness. Had he not edged into condescending arrogance or been a royal they might have had an alliance borne of a political need. Luke had joked about saving the seduction for later earlier and she had interpreted this as ruthless ridicule but now she wondered idly if, while they were conjoined by the injected devices, he actually anticipated her doing just that.

All of her thoughts were interrupted when Luke feigned as gasp. At first she had thought he had latched onto something new to critique but as she lifted her gaze she saw his mischievous grin. Rhiane kept chewing as he compared her to a Godzilla (some large lizard she'd need to investigate if she found the time) and remarked he should have ordered more food. Not only did she think he was perhaps overestimating her appetite, ravenous as it was, she was of the belief the kitchen might balk at cooking a feast that could feed a small family when there were only two of them to partake. Then again, if anyone could get away with abusing the chef's resources it was probably the man who would one day become king.

"Are you sure?" she asked as the fork with lobster and linguine was offered. The way her eyes opened wide, and her cheeks flushed faint pink in colour, showcased her excitement and appreciation. Children being given their first bar of chocolate had less enthusiasm than the princess elect for a single bite from his plate. Rhiane remained oblivious to Luce Viscomi's photography as she leaned forward and closed her lips over the pasta.

"Mmmm!" she exclaimed as she pulled back, her mouth still full. What few attendants had not been watching the spectacle certainly were now. The former farmer had forgotten there was an audience and any pretense of formal dining manners had been chucked out the window as she embraced a more casual, friendly, and honest demeanor. Her town was not coastal and so any and all seafood had to be frozen and imported to stay fresh, which increased its price and had made it less than affordable for most of the poverty-stricken residents on the edges of its city limits. This was Rhiane's very first taste of shellfish. To have something so spectacularly prepared, so expertly sauteed, and so decadent was almost overwhelming. The princess elect savored it for as long as she could before swallowing with a look of intense satisfaction.

Leaning forward with bright eyes she spoke with ecstatic praise. "That was delicious! Do you eat things like this all the time? At home I had to do all the cooking," she admitted, prattling on with a radiant smile plastered on her face as if Luke had flown her to the moon instead of giving her a small portion of his meal. "Well after I got older, anyway. Growing up with two brothers, when Mom was still alive, if I didn't eat everything as fast I could they would take things right off my plate! Wah, if Godzilla can eat like this every day I'll gladly accept the nickname. Maybe I'll claim it for myself right now," she grinned impishly. Needless to say she was also looking forward to the dessert that, as her words might insinuate, was also a delicacy she had not the opportunity to sample before.

The Betrothed

While Luke carried himself with a commanding, regal air that offered no explanation and gave no apologies, Rhiane was not used to having anyone fret about her the way Luce Viscomi did. On the farm she had she had managed her brother and father as employees. She was all too aware how frustrating it was to be dependent on someone to be timely, to perform the tasks you were responsible for overseeing, and then shoulder the fallout should there be error or failure. It had not been her choice to visit the crown prince's private island retreat before the interview. Despite knowing the blame wasn't truly her own there was a sense of guilt. All of these attendants, stylists, and Ms. Viscomi had been subjected to being both powerless and devalued as they were forced to wait for what could have been hours upon hours. The princess elect simultaneously felt both empathy for their position of reliance as superiors and inferiors: she was the doll they had to deliver, just as she had been the owner that had to produce crops, yet they were bound by her apparent whims, just as any subordinate might be with their boss.

"I'll look over the questions while I eat," she finally announced agreeably. "My sincerest apologies, Ms. Viscomi, but I can not find it in me to decline dining with my fiance. I am sure you understand." Not only would it have created an uproar if she had objected, because it would display the friction of the couple supposedly in love, it would be a sign of defiance the monarch herself might seek to squash if Luke did not. Rhiane was also famished. Anything that Luke would have ordered she would have consumed without question, indigestion be damned, though surprisingly he had listened to her pedantic request and not deviated from her meal selection.

"Would you do me a favor, Ms. Viscomi? I'm sure the interviewer is here. Could you please tell him that I am sorry for the wait, but his highness invited me on an impromptu date and we lost track of the time?" she said as she sat down with a congenial smile. Her words were not completely dishonest but they painted a portrait of a romantic outing that had not transpired. Luke's direct address of her 'flirting' had killed the casual ease that Rhiane had slipped into; even now she was not certain if it was because she believed her fiance was mocking her or because she was terrified at being linked intimately to anyone on an emotional level. Regardless, the misleading insinuations would be broadcasted and appease both the interviewer and public's curiosities. The image manager was not alone in her diligence to a favorable reception.

"Yes, of course Ms. Black," the woman responded instantly, keying a message into her tablet as she hovered nearby, neither brave nor foolish enough to intrude on the dinner.

Rhiane carefully removed the dome from her plate and let her gaze fall over the soup, sandwich, and even dessert. At the edge of her vision she could see Luce Viscomi shifting her weight uncomfortably at the sight. Technically the princess elect was on a diet from now until death, but the only person that could and would circumvent caloric limitations was the same man who was seated opposite her, and it was unlikely the queen would oppose so long as the former farmer did not balloon in size. A sincere smile of delight blossomed on her features as she set the glass covering to the side and picked up her sandwich with barely contained glee. For Luke it was a simple thing to have whatever he wanted to eat with the snap of her fingers. Before Rhiane had been limited by a frugal budget and now she was limited by dieticians. This freedom spoiled her in a way that made her temporarily forget that he had belittled her in every conversation without fail.

"If your mother isn't going to disable the implant tonight," she whispered covertly since no one was near enough to overhear, "I should have a few things sent to your room ahead of us so I can wash off my make-up and change as quickly as possible. I don't want you to have to stay up any longer than you have to already," she offered before taking a large bite of the bred, steak, and toppings that had been assembled per Luke's instructions. The princess elect knew she had witnesses that would criticize her for not taking a dainty lady bite. She cared not; she was hungry and she knew the quicker she ate, the quicker she could bathe, and the quicker they could get the interview over with. It was in everyone's best interests to expedite the royal engaged pair retiring for the evening.

The Betrothed

Rhiane had quietly dressed herself, having some difficulty with the confined space and stiff brace, but felt warmer once she did. While she would not admit it aloud, it had been incredibly comfortable curled up on Luke's lap. The heat he conveyed- no matter how awkward she felt in his embrace- was blissful. Begrudgingly she also had to concede internally that there was something gained by physical proximity with another person. Had he been anyone except the crown prince that treated her with contempt, who insisted he was not a good man, and who proclaimed how much he did not enjoy it, she might have found it more enchantingly soothing. The former farmer had no experience with tactile forms of affection but she could understand why women in her town valued it so highly. There were too many mitigating factors to truly regret not having a relationship with one of the men back home, but she could agree it was a shame she didn't have opportunity to explore the benefits it might have held, for perhaps she would have found the gains outweighed the risks. As she tugged her shirt over her head and pulled her hair through she felt a shiver from the abrupt change in temperature that was going from being pressed against Luke to being subjected to the air of the hovercraft alone.

After she was clothed she hesitantly got out of the backseat and into the front passenger side. Since Luke had not asked for his coat back she buckled herself in and then layered both it and her own jacket over her torso for insulation. Huddled in her seat Rhiane breathed in deeply as she tried to relax the muscles that had become so tense with the minor brush with hypothermia. The crown prince had commented on how he was 'glad' she was feeling better. It was true that the medical distress had abated. Only a chill persisted, but it was mild and would gradually fade before reaching their destination. Rhiane could not forget, however, how he had laughed when he spoke of always have an ulterior motive and he would not feign honestly caring about her person. Any joy she might have had that he was relieved at her recovery was stifled that it only mattered insomuch it would be inconvenient were she to suffer major illness or injury due to their outing. Out of respect for his fatigue she bit her tongue to keep herself from making a scathing remark. To engage in an argument after such a long day and with an interview still on the schedule would not be a benefit to either of them.

As the vehicle glided over the darkened sea the princess elect stared out the window. Frustration with Luke persisted but her silence on the return journey was the result of quiet contemplation on her imminent interview. Luce Viscomi would give her a briefing on what expectations they had of her, plus suggestions of how to respond to contentious topics that would be broached, but she had not made it thus far because she was reliant on an image manager to appeal to the public. Rhiane Black, Victor of the Contest, trusted herself more than any strategy handed to her on a platter. The people would be waiting for a love story to make them forget about the oppression they suffered under on a day to day basis. Hopes ran high that somehow she, born a peasant, would give voice to their struggles and way of life as she was absorbed into the upper echelons of society.

All the best lies were created with a nugget of truth. This was the secret formula that explained how wonderfully skilled the princess elect was with deception. She did not make wholly false statements; instead she blended fact and fiction so intimately that it was impossible to discern where the honesty ended and the charade began. Selling a romance to the citizens of New Rome was problematic in that she was thoroughly spurned- there was no tiny thread of truth to weave into a pretense of engaged bliss. Similarly it would be a challenge to find a way to convince anyone, much less the world, that she had any impact on the courts when even half of the ball's attendants had wrinkled their nose at touching the being that had clawed her way up from the depths of poverty.

She was so consumed it took her several moments to realize glittering lights that had sprung into view, signaling their return to civilization, and that Luke was talking to the artificial intelligence connected to his personal device. Rhiane glanced to the glowing instrument as it pinged when, much to her surprise, his royal highness himself asked her what she wanted to eat. She could feel her features go slack in mild surprise at the query. While she did not mistake it as genuine caring, it was not something she expected of the man who oscillated between showing hints of compassion, only to deny their existence, and then antagonize or chastise mercilessly. The princess elect had resigned herself to having every meal planned by overly stingy dieticians or the whims of a capricious husband.

"A sandwich," she answered almost immediately. Rhiane did not trust Luke to hold his offer for long if she gave too much pause. "Any cured meat, any cheese, any toppings, oil and vinegar," she quickly chased. Life on the farm had meant that she had learned to love every vegetable in the vicinity- not by choice but by necessity. Sandwiches were relatively inexpensive for the poor to craft for a hearty meal given that the ingredients were either on hand, cheap or easy to obtain, and the dressing (oil and vinegar) had no definitive expiration date. Meat was the hardest of all that she had listed to afford but very few could do without protein when their life was so laborious. Ranchers and butchers in the outer edges of the kingdoms sold just as much cured meat as fresh meat because their clientele was shred enough to know that a prolonged shelf life was more advantageous to rationing it out slowly.

The Betrothed

Rhiane was relieved to find that Luke was not in the mood for a scolding. She was not certain if it was her apology itself that had caused a change in his attitude but she was not of a mind to question the positive. Hopefully he wouldn't think this would be a habit for their future interactions. While she could admit when she was at fault, she wasn't going going to fall on her sword perpetually to allow him to be vindicated in every disagreement they had as might be more typical of courtly relationships with royalty. For the rest of her life she would have people laying in wait to point out her every wrong with great joy; those missteps would undoubtedly be numerous enough she did not need to add to their number by taking blame for that which she should not.

When the crown prince denied he was a good person she failed to be surprised but she was disappointed nonetheless. Luke certainly had his thorns. Naive as it might be, she had hoped that Cally had been correct. Some people hid their kindness and sensitivity under an abrasive exterior. Her brother, Gerald, was the sort that made more enemies in their town than friends, was quick to anger, and had a sharp tongue, yet that was not the summation of his being. Seb had proved to everyone there was someone gentle and caring buried underneath the hostility that her brother arguably used to protect himself. Rhiane knew she was not the sort of person that would be able to verify the existence of Luke's inner self, if one existed, either now or for the foreseeable future. Only a precious sister might be able to penetrate the walls that would separate the exterior from the interior.

But it seemed that there was no reason to hold on to such hope.

Ironically the same trait that the monarchy believed was essential for their ruler- being ruthless- was the greatest weapon wielded by the rebellion. The kingdom had become so obsessed with showing the strength of the leadership that the connection they had with the masses had become frayed and fractured. Revolutionaries were constantly arguing that there was no compassion, no understanding, and no empathy to be found in their nobility. Pragmatically everyone knew to have a bleeding heart pushover ruling would be disastrous, but belief was widespread that the pendulum had swung too hard in one direction and that the people, not just foreign nations, were being treated with callous disregard. Rhiane could not totally fault the rebellion's tactical approach: by dehumanizing those that they wished to overthrow they could convince more to join their cause. The former farmer was meant to help reverse this tide, to bring more appeal and favor, but she wasn't entirely confident she could obfuscate the reality of the allegations against the queen and crown prince in particular.

Not that the princess elect was particularly motivated to try. She had pledged herself through the contest to assist in their public image but she had not promised to do any more than the status quo. So long as there were funds sent to her father and brother for a short period of time the castle could crumble, war could sweep over the land, and there would still be hope that her family would have the monetary ability to survive. Additionally, the palace had proved to be a place of all stick and no carrot. Luke himself couldn't manage to be considerate without ulterior motives for a few paltry minutes without backpedaling into antagonism. The queen would orchestrate her death. Most fault for the failings of the couple would fall upon her shoulders alone if there was a shred of reason to do so. Without even a pretense of acceptance or reward she did not feel compelled to help. And Rhiane could more than any of them cared to know. Unlike the advisors that gathered around the tables with second-hand knowledge of what propaganda was being utilized, how receptive their citizens were to it, and how deep sympathies ran in the outer regions, she was intimately aware of the odds that no peasant with an ounce of self-preservation would utter aloud. Were they to properly respect her, allow her to give insight, and coax her into assisting their strategy she was certain she could be quite effective.

She didn't respond to Luke's 'reassurances' that she was a smart woman so he didn't need to bother pretend to care, or that she was not required to be honest. Rather than vocalizing anything she simply continued to sit awkwardly as she hugged her body to him while proclaiming how very little this contact meant. How he left a trail of broken hearts she wasn't certain she'd ever understand. Perhaps lobotomies in the female populace had become standardized if you were of a certain wealth- or they were masochists lusting after his power.

Surprisingly the tyrant fell asleep while massaging her hands. With a blush still burning on her cheeks she withdrew her fingers from his hold and weighed her options. Luke had promised that they would still attend her interview appointment albeit late. Rhiane did not wish to test the queen any more than she already had. Slowly and carefully the princess elect extricated herself from her fiance's lap. She was still cold but it was nothing that forty five minutes in a heated vehicle could not cure. Flopping onto the seat next to him she leaned forward to try to fetch her blouse, pants, and jacket that had been left behind when she was moved. Digits fumbled on the hem of her pants as she cleared her throat loudly for her companion's benefit. She'd try to wake him gently first. Should that prove to be ineffective she would, if left no other viable alternative, open the door so as to blast him with the frigid air outside.

The Betrothed

What she had intended to say is that she knew that he didn't want to touch her, although that hadn't been the extent of what she knew he 'didn't want.' He didn't want to be in her company when he preferred to be alone, he didn't want to be marrying her rather than the lovely actress whose company he had enjoyed during the engagement ball, he didn't want to be lugging around someone who had managed to damage their ankle (no matter the circumstance), he didn't want to be sharing meals with a peasant who had a less refined palate- the list could have gone on for years. Luke's offer to help her dress had been the precise object of the princess elect's half-voiced protest. There was something humiliating about having a man help her clothe herself while having the knowledge that her very being made his skin crawl on account of her low birth. The former farmer had not objected to being used by men who sought to satisfy their primal urges so long as the need was consensual, but she wasn't in the habit of being weak in the presence of anyone, family included. To accept his proposal would make her embarrassed, vulnerable, and shamed all at once.

Before she could offer clarification or explanation the crown prince was busying himself. Rhiane sank further into her seat, sliding down on the leather upholstery, as she felt the waves of heated air blast into the vehicle. Turning slightly she positioned her brace as close to one of the vents as was possible so as to expedite the softening of the silicone. It was rigid before the frigid pool and autumn breeze, but now it felt like stone on her flesh. If she thought it was possible to remove the medical object without the notice of her fiance she would have done so. There were many words to describe Luke but unobservant was not one of them. She could only imagine the barrage of bitter chastisement if she tried to wiggle it off the compromised ankle.

Rhiane could hardly believe her ears when she realized that not only had the heir to throne called his mother, but he was requesting that her interview be cancelled on account of her health. Much as she wanted to interject her opinion she was too shocked, was too aware of how poorly that would skew the queen's opinion of her, and had no method with which to impose on a conversation on a handheld device. The princess elect's disbelief only deepened when Luke heatedly countered something spoken by the monarch by stating Rhiane was not a 'puppet' that ought to be compelled to perform on stage. Although he had chased it with justification that he didn't want a collapse on television, the comparison stuck with her. The words struck her as strangely honest. It was not a logical argument as much as it was an emotional one. Queen Camilla must have drawn the same conclusion whether or not she stated it outright to her wayward son. For someone who detested both her companionship and what she represented it was highly peculiar that he had grown offended on her behalf.

The apparent result of the discussion was that nothing had changed. Her eyes flicked to the screen where she took silent note of the time. That they would be late to the interview was all but certain. Idly she wondered if there would be a lecture or punishment waiting for their arrival. Obviously the implant was evidence that the crown prince was not above disciplinary actions, but he would not be subjected to anything as harsh as a poor citizen that was not really royalty, and this might keep her safer than otherwise. Linking the pair together meant that if one misbehaved the other was an accomplice whether willing or unwilling.

As she was lost in her thoughts Luke jumped out of the hovercraft, jogged over to her side, opened the backseat door, opened her door, deposited her on the backseat, entered the backseat himself, and stripped. It was all so sudden she had barely the time to comprehend; reacting was out of the question. Her face reflected a mixture of bafflement, genuine surprise, and mild suspicion. The warning that she shouldn't ever think he was 'enjoying this' was as puzzling as his actions. Out of respect for his personal space she had edged away from the centre of the rear of the vehicle, though this was short lived. Immediately after his proclamation she reached forward, grabbed her, and pulled her into his lap.

Rhiane had underestimated the cold. This was something she could admit both internally and aloud once her chattering teeth were more compliant. In her eagerness to prove herself she had not considered how much exposure to cool temperatures might be amplified in only her underwear. The farmer hadn't been swimming before and thus was unprepared for the shock of diving into a pool that was bound to be several degrees lower than the weather. She had not calculated how emerging without a towel would mean the water would cling to her skin and keep her more perpetually chilled than if she was dry. Most of all she had not heeded the sage advice of not overexerting oneself in winter. The season was autumn, but the wisdom of her elders was still applicable: it was easy to be so taken with a task, and feel warm from sweating, that the warning signs of a body's regulation were on the fritz was ignored.

Despite herself, even as she shivered in his hold, the princess elect's face flushed so vividly she looked away. Never had someone embraced her (pragmatic reason or not) in this manner. She was no virgin. While Rhiane had been with men there had been no tender kisses, no holding of hands, no cuddling, no hugging, nothing that was affectionate and might insinuate there was something between them of an emotionally intimate nature. By her own insistence they met, had intercourse, and then parted ways without a pretense of a relationship or mutual comfort. As the shuddering started to gradually diminish the pounding of her heart was more clearly felt where their torsos were pressed together. It was a futile wish but she hoped that Luke wouldn't seize the opportunity to note it, ridicule her, and then ask probing questions that she was unprepared to answer. Her fingers were still like tiny icicles but she did not dare to move them. Rhiane sat awkwardly, clearly unsure what to do with herself, as her body belied how foreign and new this experience truly was.

"I-I-I'm sorry," she muttered. Hopefully he'd take the apology and not use it as a foothold to spend the entire forty-five minute travel time to the castle to try to cajole her into groveling at his feet. She'd sooner fling herself out into the falling temperatures and let nature take her than do so.

"Y-y-your sister," she began. There were still goosebumps covering her from head to toe but at least her voice was stabilizing albeit slowly. "Last night she... s-s-she," Rhiane paused to curse under her breath at the ache of her jaw and how idiotic she was sure she sounded. Taking a deep breath she wrangled the chattering under control with sheer force of will. "She said you were a good p-person." There was more to say but perhaps not right now while they were both nearly nude and she had an appointment with the nation imminent. If Cally was right, and Luke was a good person, if he let himself be shown as one, there was a chance she could help revitalize a failing public perception that had been capitalized on by the rebellion. Before that could be accomplished, however, Rhiane needed to see if the princess had her brother on an undeserving pedestal or she was not given credit for an astute assessment.